“Just as I thought! It's a genuine Peter Hartman! It's one of the things that money can't buy, or, rather, one that takes a mint of money to own. They are heirlooms. They are not manufactured any more. At the art store where I worked they'd give you fifty dollars for that. It is not faded or worn a particle. It would be lovely in my room; you mustn't take a treasure like that out of doors.” “Ruth, are you in earnest?” demanded the Harvester. “I believe there are six of them upstairs.” “Plutocrat!” cried the Girl. “What colours?” “More of this pinkish red, blue, and pale green.” “Famous! May I have them to help furnish with to-morrow?” “Certainly! Anything you can find, any way on earth you want it, only in my room. That is taboo, as I told you. What am I going to take to-night?” “Isn't the rug you had in the woods in the wagon yet? Use that!” “Of course! The very thing! Bel, proceed!” “Are you going to leave the house like this?” “Why not?” “Suppose some one breaks in!” “Nothing worth carrying away, except what you have on. No one to get in. There is a big swamp back of our woods, marsh in front, we're up here where we can see the drive and bridge. There is nothing possible from any direction. Never locked the cabin in my life, except your room, and that was because it was sacred, not that there was any danger. Clear the way, Bel!” “Clear it of what?” “Katydids, hoptoads, and other carnivorous animals.” “Now you are making fun of me! Clear it of what?” “A coon that might go shuffling across, an opossum, or a snake going to the lake. Now are you frightened so that you will not go?” “No. The path is broad and white and surely you and Bel can take care of me.” “If you will trust us we can.” “Well, I am trusting you.” “You are indeed,” said the Harvester. “Now see if you think this is pretty.” He indicated the hill sloping toward the lake. The path wound among massive trees, between whose branches patches of moonlight filtered. Around the lake shore and climbing the hill were thickets of bushes. The water lay shining in the light, a gentle wind ruffled the surface in undulant waves, and on the opposite bank arose the line of big trees. Under a giant oak widely branching, on the top of the hill, the Harvester spread the rug and held one end of it against the tree trunk to protect the Girl's dress. Then he sat a little distance away and began to talk. He mingled some sense with a quantity of nonsense, and appreciated every hint of a laugh he heard. The day had been no amusing matter for a girl absolutely alone among strange people and scenes. Anything more foreign to her previous environment or expectations he could not imagine. So he talked to prevent her from thinking, and worked for a laugh as he laboured for bread.